


Victory Girl

by GhostCrumpet



Series: Victory Girl [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, First Time, Menege, Prostitution, WW2, mfm, mmf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-09-30 23:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10175624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostCrumpet/pseuds/GhostCrumpet
Summary: Captain America and his Howling Commandos are the terror of the allied forces. They've taken back more territory than any other specialized team so far, and have been hunting Hydra cells all over Germany and Italy. Command back home is pleased with their work, and wants to make sure they stay on-task and fighting-fit.With another wave of VD sweeping the allied armies, what better way to make sure that the Howlies are able to do their job but to provide them with their very own, very virginal Victory Girl?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For ChrissiHR who introduced me to the 4F universe.

Steve stared down at the telegraph he’d just been handed, his bacon growing cold on his plate. Bucky waited a beat, then filched a rasher for himself, cramming the whole thing into his mouth. A few of the other Howlies snickered, Monty rolling his eyes, but none of them ratted him out, plus Steve seemed pretty fuckin’ pole-axed.

Another minute passed and then Steve growled, and wasn’t that a treat because little Steve couldn’t have had enough oxygen in his lungs to squeak, but Mr. Big’n’Tall could growl now. Bucky’d be a damn liar if he said it didn’t do anything for him. He took a swig of coffee as Steve crumpled the paper in his hand before tossing the piece of paper over his shoulder. It hit the rim of the garbage can and then fell down into a pile of refuse.

“What’s up Cap?” Morita asked, as all the other Howlies were eyeing up Steve with varying levels of curiosity.

“We’re getting a… a…” two twin patches of red bloomed on Steve’s cheeks as he stammered through his words. “We’re getting a  _ victory girl _ .”

Bucky nearly choked on his mouthful of coffee and managed to swallow it down. Dum Dum gave him a wallop on the back, which didn’t much help.

“We’re gettin’ what?” Gabe asked, his eyebrows hiking up to his hairline. Steve stared down at his plate and then viciously stabbed at a piece of bacon.

“We’re hereby under orders to not associate with any of the camp…. girls,” Steve said, and his cheeks were still burning red. Well, maybe if Steve’d spent less time lecturing and moralizing and more time with his hands up skirts, he’d be a little less tight in his britches, Bucky thought privately.

“‘Scuse me?” Dum Dum asked, leaning forward, his mustache twitching. Steve huffed out a sigh and set down his fork, looking down the line of his men.

“They’re sending us… a woman. To… to be available to us. Whenever we need her.” Steve looked irritated and put out at the very thought. Bucky wondered why but then he settled his shoulders and stole one of Steve’s ignored slices of bacon.

“Guess they’re tired of losing their men to VD and they wanna make sure their prime action heroes don’t get waylaid,” Bucky said around his mouthful of meat. Steve glared at him and Falsworth let out a soft whistle.

“When might the lady be arriving?” Falsworth asked, his question hanging in the air for a moment as Steve turned his burning eyes on the other man. Falsworth hitched one shoulder. “We are not quite equipped to host a girl such as that… perhaps preparations might be made?” Steve looked like he’d swallowed a frog.

“Yeah, girl’s gonna need her own tent, for… well,” Dum Dum’s words died off when Steve grunted.

“I’ll speak to the quartermaster,” Steve said and then went to reach for his bacon. Bucky stood up quickly from the table, last piece sticking out between his lips.

“Gotta go see a man about a dog,” he said, saluting Steve and then bolting when the other man lumbered to his feet.

 

She arrived in a whirl of skirts, and a cloud of perfume, flown in on a special commission just for them. Too bad they wouldn’t be making any use of her, Steve thought, as he surveyed her. She couldn’t be more than sixteen (although her papers said she was nineteen), and now under his direct command. Curling brown hair that was pinned up proper, like she wasn’t a paid harlot under orders to  _ please _ his Commandos in any way they saw fit, bold blue eyes that he’d have found himself stumbling over back at home, and a figure that had Bucky breathing hard through his nose as he stood behind Steve.

No, Steve thought again, as he did his best not to let his eyes wander down her figure as she stood there in what she probably thought was a good stab at  _ attention _ . No, they would not use her as Command had specified - as their very own victory girl, someone to keep the boys healthy and out of trouble. He’d figure out some other small task for her to take on, maybe darning their socks and looking after the rest of their laundry. If it was one thing his mother had taught him, women knew how to get blood out of clothes.

He was not going to ask the girl to compromise herself and be a Jezebel for his unit, the very thought of it made him ill.  _ But she volunteered _ … whispered in the back of his mind, and he ignored it. He only let his eyes slip to her plush, full lips for one moment before he looked over at Corporal Masters who had accompanied her.

“We’ve received Private Lewis, thank you Corporal Masters, I’ll take it from here,” Steve said, and he thought he saw a small shiver go through the girl’s shoulders. He pressed his lips together in a thin line. Masters gave him a brief salute and then saw himself out of the main tent that the Howlies used for their planning and strategy sessions. Once he had left, Steve could really take in the young woman. She had a small army-issued backpack leaning against her leg, and a carpet bag next to that. She was dressed in uniform, with little decoration except the bright red piping along the seams which matched the military-issue lipstick she wore.

“Captain Rogers,” she said, when the three of them were quiet for too long, and her gaze slipped to Bucky behind him. “Sergeant Barnes. It’s a honor to serve you-”

“No,” Steve said, raising a hand with a short, jerky chop. “Miss Lewis, I know what you’ve been… you’ve been sent here to do, and I understand you may have consented to it, but I never signed up to fight this war so my country could ask a woman to whore herself out to an entire unit to keep them satisfied.”

The girl’s eyes widened in her face and she inhaled sharply, the hurt expression that followed made him regret his choice of words. Except he didn’t. She was young, too young, to be out on the front lines, shoved into a position that shouldn’t have existed in the first place… and from the letter that had accompanied her, she was entirely inexperienced and had gone through a doctor’s exam proving just that along with her lack of sexual diseases. As much as he respected and admired the men who fought beside him, he was not about to let some virgin girl from the remote reaches of America’s west coast give herself over to be pawed at and-

When he lifted his gaze to speak again, he realized she was gone. She’d run in the space of a breath.

“Huh,” Bucky said, as he stepped forward into Steve’s line of sight. “That went well. Any more bright ideas on how to handle our new lady friend?”

Wonderful. Steve just growled under his breath and walked out of the tent after her.


	2. Chapter 2

“I do not think so,” Peggy Carter levelled a glare at Steve Rogers that would’ve peeled the paint right off of his shield. For his part, Steve’s head was all hang-dog. Darcy could see it, even from her spot hiding in the back of Peggy’s tent. The other woman had come across Darcy, crying her eyes out, and had sheltered her in the tent so she might get cleaned up and presentable.

“I just wanted to-”

“Whatever you  _ want _ , Steve, can wait. Private Lewis is in no shape to deal with you, you great lummock, and certainly not after the way you treated her. Yes, she told me.” Peggy crossed her arms over her chest and Darcy curled up tighter under the quilt Peggy had thrown around her shoulders. She shivered in it and was grateful for the shadows of Peggy’s tent keeping her mostly-hidden from Steve’s gaze. She didn’t want to have anything to do with the judgey grump, but at the same time she knew she needed to make peace with him if they were to… work together. The thought of laying down with him right that moment wasn’t all that enticing, given how he’d stared at her like she was dirt.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Steven,  _ enough _ ,” Peggy said in a gentle, almost kind voice. She looked over her shoulder at Darcy, and then pushed the great man out of view, stepping outside of the tent. Their voices fell away, and Darcy was left to her own thoughts.

She’d been damn stupid, signing up. Who was she to think that anyone would want her, not like she had any talents other than curling her hair up and putting on makeup. It was then she made up her mind to stumble off of Peggy’s bed, set her skirts to rights, and lift up the far end of the tent. She squirmed out from underneath the tent wall and breathed in the fresh afternoon air. The sun had split through the clouds, pouring down over the army encampment, and she didn’t have to deal with Steve Rogers for at least another few minutes. Peggy would see to  _ that. _

She followed the narrow pathways between the tents, her stomach leading her more than anything since she hadn’t had anything to eat in an age. There was a clearing, and a fire, and a handful of men clustered around it, frying up what looked like tidbits of meat. She scuffed the dirt and almost as one they all turned to her. She recognized Barnes immediately, and he got to his feet. The other men scrambled to follow, tipping their hats to her, murmuring polite greetings after Barnes spoke,

“This’s Private Lewis, assigned to our unit.” He gave her a quick smile that warmed her empty stomach. “Rogers’ bumbled the intro, so it’s good of her to find us so we can say hello, properly.”

“Hello,” she said, her cheeks on fire. The men were, every one, handsome, well muscled, and filled out their uniforms. She appraised them just as they were appraising her, with their frank, if polite, gazes. It was odd to think that in a few short days, weeks at most, she’d know them all intimately… biblically. One of them shifted over to her and smiled, offering his hand.

“Sergeant Timothy Dugan,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lewis.”

“Private Lewis,” Bucky corrected with an amused drawl, and Darcy felt her cheeks lighting up harder.

“Miss Lewis is fine,” she said in a small voice as she went to shake Dugan’s hand. “Darcy is probably best though.” Dugan scooped her hand up in his big paw and planted a kiss on the back of it, his whiskers tickling her skin. She held back her giggle, though, when he winked at her. After that it was a whirl of first names and official titles, although the first names stuck out to her more than anything. Dernier was a gentleman, and had murmured something in French that she hadn’t understood, but it made her blush all the same.

She was given a spot by the fire, where Gabriel fried up some rations for her, and her grumbling stomach finally settled. She was offered a cigarette but declined it, and out of deference to her wrinkling nose, the smokers edged away so they wouldn’t stink up the air around her.

And she listened. If she was to make time with this men, she’d best know them as well as she could, know their hearts as well as their minds. That much had been drummed into her before they’d set her loose: that the salve she was to provide was much mental as it was physical. The thought that she, dumb little Darcy Lewis from Friday Harbor could be a help to one of the most elite team fighting for the Allies was a bit of a brain-twister, but she’d figure her away around it… eventually.

For now she just listened, laughed at their ridiculous stories, sipped at the short jack of beer she’d been passed, and soaked in the heat of the fire.

It wasn’t until Steve Rogers himself ambled up, looking chastened but determined, that she felt the knot of stone return to her stomach.

“Private Lewis,” he said, his voice holding a hard edge. “I, and the rest of the men, appreciate your volunteering for service. Truth is we didn’t have a need-” there was a faint hiss of breath from the men around her, and she glanced at Barnes to find his gaze hot and steady on her, putting the lie to Steve’s words. Maybe  _ Rogers _ didn’t have a need, but she recognized the hollow-eyed looks that the men had, similar to them that came to Friday Harbor back during the dust years looking for food, or work, or both. These men had a need, even if it wasn’t for nourishment exactly. They needed comfort, and a soft set of arms to return to after combat.

Any idiot could see that. Maybe Steve Rogers was a greater idiot than most if he was blind to it. She tuned back in just as he was finishing his grandstanding about all the things she was  _ not _ to do, and a few of the things she was to do.

“-the boys’ll bring their washing to you at the end of each week, and you let me know if you need any extra help hauling it out to the local village that provides space for our camp to do their laundry,” Steve said with a nod, as if it was all said and done, wrapped and parceled. She’d missed most of it, but given the mutinous looks being passed around the fireplace, she gathered she was going to be their girl Friday, so to speak, picking up after them and making sure things ran a bit more smoothly for their unit.

Well… that was alright, to begin with.

“Is that it then?” she asked, looking at Steve so boldly, that his cheeks turned a funny shade of pink. “Am I to bunk in with the lady-nurses, or-” He cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“Quartermaster’s given you your own tent, attached to mine. You’ll stay in it at night, from after dinner until dawn, with no exceptions unless you’re ill or there’s an attack on the camp,” Steve said. When Morita muttered something under his breath about Rogers having his hands in the goods he wasn’t allowing anyone else to touch, Steve glared at him. “You’ll stay in it,  _ alone _ .”

Darcy felt her face flare up once more, but she snapped a haphazard little salute to Rogers before gathering herself with all the dignity she could muster.

“I guess that’s that then,” she said, as the atmosphere around the fire went cool despite the flames still licking at the logs.

“Damn right it is,” Steve replied, staring at her steadily. “If you’ll come along, I’ll show you to your tent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sorta lost my way with this but hopefully I'll find the muse again.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr: [hushhorizon.tumblr.com](https://hushhorizon.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Specialist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545164) by [ChrissiHR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrissiHR/pseuds/ChrissiHR)




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